Lead Me Home
by neverbeenunloved
Summary: How strange that he would forget the other half of his heart...the one that would be his compass home to loving arms. Alone and caught in war, can the one he has forgotten be strong enough to bring him home? .:Brotherfic:. /NO SLASH/
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello, fans of Narnia! Recently, I've been bitten with the bug that is called the Narnian fanfictionis addictionum. It's pretty bad, and the poison makes me addicted to Peter and Edmund brotherly fics. My favourite dealers of poison (so far) are Sentimental Star and WillowDryad. They are amazing! If you haven't read their stories yet, I recommend "Steadfast Heart" by Sentimental Star and "Counted Among the Traitors" by WillowDryad. UH-MAY-ZIIIING!

Anyway, I've decided to try writing my own Peter/Edmund brotherly fic. NO slash or incest, I absolutely abhor both, and I firmly believe that they are against the Christian values that C.S. Lewis was adhering to when he wrote his books. I will be writing about a theme that has been touched upon by several writers, however I have yet to see a fully developed one. In advance, I will apologize for any historical inconsistencies. I will have to do some research, and perhaps, invent. I do so humbly ask you to bear with me.

Well, that was a mouthful. On with the show!

"Speech"

_Memories/Flashbacks_

_*Thoughts*_

**LEAD ME HOME Chapter 1 - Numb**

He never knew goodbye could be so painful.

Edmund Pevensie was no stranger to goodbyes. In this world, he had bid goodbye to his parents more times than he could count, what with the blasted Germans dropping bombs everywhere and the relocation program. In Narnia, he had said his goodbyes to comrades that begged him to stay with him until their final breaths. He had bid his siblings goodbye as he set off for yet another diplomatic mission. He was, after all, King Edmund the Just, best statesman in all of Narnia!

But not here. Not in England. Here in England, he was ordinary Edmund Pevensie, seventeen. He was standing on the train platform, watching the train chug away, bringing hordes of brave young men to the cruel battlefield. He was not one of them. A tear trickled down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, keeping his composure. He needed to be strong now. For Mum. For Susan and Lucy.

For Peter.

He closed his eyes, feeling the thick smoke-laden wind from the train ruffle his dark hair. He could hear his sisters' muffled sobbing a few steps behind him as the wind whipped their skirts. He remembered the heartbreaking farewell just minutes before…

_The image before him was not unfamiliar. Well, the khaki certainly was, along with the boots. But the bearing was familiar. It was almost…regal. Like a king going off to battle._

_The image looked at him in the mirror's reflection. "Well, Ed, how do I look?" He grinned. That infernal grin._

"_Like a sacrifice," he replied sullenly. He, Edmund Pevensie, would not try to pretend that everything was all right. Nothing was right when his brother, his High King, would be going to war without him by his side._

_The grin disappeared. Peter turned to face his younger brother, his right hand, the other part of his heart. _

"_Ed, I know you don't like the idea of me going off to fight, but you don't have to be so bloody sullen about it!"_

_Edmund would not meet his eyes. Instead, he looked around the room which he and his brother shared._

"_I beg your pardon, my King," he retorted sarcastically, still not meeting his brother's blue eyes. _

_Peter stiffened. Sighing, he grasped his brother's shoulders. They were almost the same height now._

"_Oh, hang it all, Ed! Look at me!" When his brother still refused, he gave him a good shake. "Look at me!"_

_Edmund looked at him. And immediately, Peter wished he hadn't. He saw fear. Hate. Things that shouldn't be seen in a seventeen-year-old's eyes._

_Peter released his grip, taking a step back. "Ed…"_

"_No, Peter." He spoke slowly, making sure the emotion in his voice was heard. It was cracking._

"_Don't try to apologize. Don't- Don't even say anything. Once you leave this house, nothing- NOTHING is ever going to be the same again. How do you think Mum's holding up? Ever since Dad…"_

_Peter had tears in his eyes now. "Ed, please…"_

"_Shut up, Pete! Just shut up! I don't want to hear any of your heroics…Aslan knows how long I've had to put up with them! You're leaving, Pete! You're leaving…"_

_*You're leaving, and you're taking a piece of my heart with you!* Edmund thought bitterly._

_And he could take it no longer. He broke down, facing away from his brother. _

_An uncomfortable silence reigned, broken only by the sobs of his younger brother, and Peter found himself at a loss. He tried to touch his brother, to offer an embrace, a semblance of comfort, but Edmund recoiled at his touch. Peter could do nothing but keep his distance._

_Once Edmund's sobs had quieted down, Peter gathered his courage for what he knew might be the final talk with his brother._

"_Ed…"_

"_I hate you."_

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

The ride to the station after that was an awkward quiet one, broken only by the girls' sobs and Peter's efforts of comfort. Mother did not come along. She could not bear the strain of saying goodbye to yet another of her boys. She had said her tearful farewell to her oldest son at the Pevensie residence, then bade her children take their brother to the station. She knew they would need their own time.

Susan showed her anxiety by checking and rechecking Peter's rations, provisions, and clothing with a sad smile on her face, quizzing her older brother if he got this, that, and oh, he did remember that?

Peter indulged his sister with patience and a smile, answering yes, he did not forget this; and, of course, he never could forget that!

Lucy was worse. She was a little girl again, clinging to her oldest brother. She never wanted to let go. She never bothered to stop crying, and neither did Susan.

At the platform, Susan and Lucy practically threw themselves at Peter when the whistle blew, sobbing and clinging to their eldest brother, their High King. Edmund stood awkwardly at the side.

Before Peter stepped off the platform and onto the train, he turned to Edmund.

"Well, I guess-…" His voice was breaking. "I guess this is it."

Awkwardly, Peter thrust out his hand for a handshake. Edmund glanced at him, then took the hand, shaking it firmly, all the while staring at his boots.

At the last second, Peter could bear it no longer and drew his brother to him for a crushing hug.

Edmund remained limp in his arms, staring stubbornly ahead and not letting any tears fall down his face. He was numb.

Peter released him at last, and with a last, longing glance at his family, he boarded the train.

Edmund had only looked up at the moment to see his older brother's tall frame and blonde hair be swallowed up in the cramped train, disappearing in the hordes of other young men.

He shouted.

"Peter! Peter!" He was wrong. Oh Aslan, he had been so terribly wrong. And now with the knowledge that he might not ever see him again, he died a little inside.

"Peter! Peter!"

His sisters stared at him. Everyone stared at him. He didn't care. He had to tell his brother he was sorry. He had to tell him he loved him…before he was taken from him.

But his voice was drowned out by a thousand others, a cacophony of "Give Mum my love!", "Tell her I love her!", "Be a good girl for Daddy!", and many other messages that came from voices that might soon be silenced forever.

He ran with the train, desperately trying to find his brother.

"Peter! Peter!"

He had reached the end of the platform. Now, he could only watch as the locomotive lumbered slowly out of the station, watched until the smoke was the only thing he could see. He could hear his sisters' footsteps as they caught up with him a few feet behind.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes. Tears threatened to leak out, and one actually slid down his cheek. He wiped it away.

In a whisper only he could hear, but with a prayer to God that his brother might be kept safe, he uttered three words.

"I love you."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

**A/N: **Whew! Wrote this all in one sitting, and I'm still not sure where I'm going with this. If you have any ideas for me, please review! And if you don't, please leave a review anyway! Constructive criticism only, please…and if you have any problems about my views or my stand on anything, please feel free to PM…let's leave the review section civil, shall we?

Paalam! Sa susunod na pagkikita! Pagpalain ka ng Diyos!

HUH?!

Just kidding. I'm a proud Filipino. Born and raised in the Philippines. Translated, it means "Goodbye! Til we meet again! God bless!"

Nagmamahal (Love),

- Shana -


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Hello again, Gentle Reader!

SO…I wanted to get this done before I get writers' block. Your suggestions are really wonderful, and I'm going to use some, like the letter idea of Stormyskies89 (thanks, dear). A lot of you don't want me to kill Peter off, the poor dear. Well, let's see (evil laugh).

Nah, who am I kidding? I could never kill him off…although I have something heart-wrenching planned for the two of them. I don't see this story as being very long, though.

Now…on with the show!

**LEAD ME HOME Chapter 2 – Correspondence**

Peter wrote tons of letters whenever he could. As soon as training and drills were done for the day, he would plop down on his bed and take out a pen and paper. The secretary of their camp was amazed at how many letters were addressed to a certain Edmund Pevensie.

_Dear Ed,_

_Winter's coming in now. It's freezing, and yet we're expected to jump up and get on with our day. Training and all. Tell Susan and Mum thanks for the socks and scarf, but I've given them to someone who needs them a lot more than I do. His name is Thomas. He's my age, but he's about your size, Ed. He's lanky, dark hair, dark eyes…oh Ed, he reminds me so much of you! He has no family, and he survives on charity and hand-me-downs. It breaks my heart. I know you won't mind._

_Winter here is nothing at all like winter in Narnia. The only similarity is the freezing temperature. Winter in Narnia was bright, the bare trees glinting because of the snow in their branches, and the soft feel of new snow. Remember our snow fights back at Cair? Oh Ed, how I miss you._

_Winter here is dark and dreary. There is no white snow. It has all been stained varying shades of gray. Smoke from the different trucks stays in the air. I miss the smell of home. I miss you, Ed. I miss you all. Give Lucy and Mum a hug and kiss for me, and keep an eye on Susan. Lord knows what that new boy next door (Muddlepugs or whatever his name is) has been thinking!_

_I miss you, Ed. I love you. _

_Remember Aslan, Ed. He will never leave us nor forsake us. I get mocked sometimes for carrying His book, but it is my shield and sword. Take care, brother mine. May the Lion be with you!_

_All my love, _

_Peter_

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

_Dear Peter,_

_For God's sake, what a noble idiot you are! You're lucky I haven't shown Susan or Mum your letter, although I've asked them to send you more clothing, saying you might need it. I can hear their needles clacking away right now._

_Pete, you've got to think about yourself sometime. For Aslan's sake, at least keep ONE pair of socks. How ironic if the High King himself would die on the battlefield, not because of sword or bullet but of cold! Peter, please, think a little!_

_Oh Aslan, how I miss you. I miss being at your side, fighting the good fight. Yes, winter's coming in. Christmas decorations are already being put up, thanks to our Valiant Queen. She's been cutting out paper chains and snowflakes and God-knows-what for weeks now. Every day I pass by her bed and see her praying. I can barely make out the words, but I recognize them, Peter. It's the one we used to say in Narnia whenever one of us would go out to battle. She is strong, Peter. So are Susan and Mum._

_I miss you, brother mine. May Aslan be with you. I love you._

_Love,_

_Ed_

O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Indeed, it was winter time. Christmas time. Weeks passed and the Pevensie house was bustling with activity and although her children were quite grown up by now, Helen Pevensie enjoyed watching the magic of the holiday that would immediately transform her teenagers into innocent children again.

"Oy! Mum said I could help!"

"Bugger off, Ed. Go help Lucy with the tree."

Grumbling, Edmund reluctantly obeyed, leaving behind a very amused Susan to stir the batter.

Fifteen year-old Lucy was decorating the tree when Edmund poked his head into the room. He was greeted with a smiling young girl, red and green ribbons cascading through her hair. "Come on, Lucy! You promised to wait for me!"

"I've only done my side of the tree," Lucy pouted. "Besides, I can't reach that high, and you and Peter always do the top part."

Edmund smiled a sad smile. It had always been the boys' responsibility to decorate the upper branches. It didn't feel right to decorate without Peter.

"You want to help, Lu?", he asked. His sister looked at him quizzically. "What…?"

Grinning good-naturedly, he put his hands on his sister's slim waist and held her up, just high enough for her to hang an ornament.

She laughed, hanging the ornament. Edmund continued to hold her, waltzing her around the room.

"Will my Valiant Queen oblige me with a dance?", he said, finally putting his sister down.

Smiling, Lucy offered her hand, and they waltzed around the room until they were quite out of breath.

Once they had sat down, their faces red from laughing, Edmund noticed Susan smiling at them from the doorway, dressed for a date.

"Where are you going?", he asked immediately, a questioning hint to his voice.

"Out," Susan smiled coyly. "I'll be back later."

Lucy rolled her eyes as her brother continued his questioning. "Which one is it this time?"

Susan bristled. "The new boy next door, Timothy Morrendum. He really is quite a dear."

Edmund remembered Peter's letter. _Muddlepugs or whatever his name is!_

"No."

"What?" Susan was surprised. "Why not?"

"Because…" Edmund trailed off. _Because Peter doesn't like him._

"Because what, Ed?" Susan sneered.

"Su, just please don't go." Edmund said calmly. "Peter told me to keep an eye on you."

At the mention of Peter's name, all traces of disdain for her brother vanished from Susan's face.

"All right," she said, throwing off her cloak. "I can wait. Besides, I think Mum needs more help in the kitchen."

She turned, making her way to her mother and busying herself with the preparations.

Edmund exhaled. So far, so good. He was holding the fort.

_Don't worry, Peter, _he thought. _I'll keep them safe._

_Come home safe._

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a knock at the door.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

**A/N**: Oh, cliffhanger!

Review, please! And keep those suggestions coming!

Nagmamahal,

- Shana -


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Chapter three!

First and foremost, I WILL NOT KILL PETER. All you rabid fangirls can scream your hearts out now…hahaha….enjoy!

**LEAD ME HOME Chapter 3 – Believe**

"Edmund, be a dear and get the door, will you?" called Mrs. Pevensie from the kitchen which now smelled of fresh bread.

"Alright mum!"

Grinning and bowing to his dance partner, Edmund walked to the door and peeked out the windows.

"It's the paper, mum!"

Edmund opened the door and grinned at the small boy holding out the newspaper for that day. "Thanks."

His sisters crowded excitedly around him as he plopped down to read it. The front page was emblazoned by headlines of victory, and the little family was thrilled as they read about the exploits of the brave young army, of which they knew their High King was part.

Finally, Edmund turned to the most nerve-wrecking section of the paper, where the recently deceased and the missing in action were listed. The font was small, Edmund had to squint to see it, and this only contributed to the tension of it all.

His sisters had never liked reading that part of the paper, and had retreated to another cushion where Susan had started braiding Lucy's hair and fixing the ribbons.

Edmund's hands started to shake, and he threw down the paper and gasped out a sob.

"No! NO! It can't be!"

Abruptly, he stood up and ran out the door.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

At Edmund's sudden outburst, Helen Pevensie rushed into the living room to see her two daughters pale and staring at the paper on the floor like it held a plague. She noted her son's absence and closed the door, the chilly winter wind blowing in.

Susan picked up the paper, her heart pounding. She began reading through the list of the recently deceased, hoping and praying that her older brother had not become another statistic to be written in black and white.

She had finished the list, and was relieved to find that he had not yet joined the ranks of faceless sacrifices.

She skipped to the list of the missing-in-action.

And there, in between _Peridan, Matthew_ and _Petronovich, Adam_, was the cause of Edmund's distress.

_Peter Pevensie, MIA 12-17-40_

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The secretary on duty at the War Office that day had never been more flustered. He was a middle-aged man who was used to calming down eventual widows-to-be with young children. He had dealt with furious fathers and enraged mothers wanting to know where their children were. He had broken the sad news to every family, and he had cried with them.

That's why he was surprised to find himself helpless before a lanky young man of seventeen with tears in his dark eyes.

When Edmund had first walked in, the secretary didn't even look up from his typewriter. "Enlistment office is down the hall, son."

"Please sir," the pleading voice caused him to look up. "I'm not here to enlist."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen, sir."

"Why are you here then? Speak up, boy. I haven't got much time for you today."

"Sir, my brother…he's been reported in the papers as mi—missing…in action."

Here the lad had started tearing up and choking on his own words. "I was wonder-ing if there was some sort of mistake?"

"Name?"

"Peter Pevensie, sir."

"Ah yes…let's see…" He rifled through the papers on his desk and came up with the list. "I'm sorry, son. He _is_ reported as MIA."

"Is…is there any hope…of him co—coming back?"

The secretary looked him squarely in the eye.

"Do you believe in God, son?"

At this a light came into Edmund's dull eyes. "Yes sir."

"Then you'd better start praying," the man told him gently.

With tears in his eyes, Edmund nodded and walked out of the office. "Thank you, sir."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Without direction, Edmund walked. His mind was racing and his heart was heavy. He did not want to cry, so he spent all his energy in walking until his legs ached. He now knew what Peter had felt like, back in another life, in another world.

_Edmund had been gone for long. TOO long. He had set off alone for a diplomatic mission with the Tisroc, saying that one man could do much more than an army. He had taken only a few guards for his royal person and had been gone for much more than his siblings had anticipated. They had heard no word from him._

_Every night, his three siblings would wait in his chambers. Queen Lucy would lie on his bed and eventually drift off to sleep while facing the horizon. Queen Susan would choose a comfortable cushion near the fire and curl up in its warmth. Neither queens would speak. Each would just wait until sleep claimed them, in hopes of seeing their Just King._

_While at least the girls slept, Peter did not. He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, on the wide road leading to Cair Paravel. He usually paced the balcony. When the nights became too chilly, he would pace inside. He would hardly catch any sleep, and Oreius had had to catch him many times when he had almost fallen asleep from exhaustion while training._

_The night Edmund arrived, he had avoided being seen by Peter from the balcony. He smiled and greeted the guards and servants, indicating that he wished to surprise his siblings. The guards willingly kept quiet. _

_When Edmund had entered his chambers, he was greeted by an unpleasant surprise._

_Queen Susan had fallen asleep clutching a book and curled up in front of the fire, her brow creased with worry and her mouth set in a grim line. It was obvious that she was exhausted by worry. Queen Lucy was asleep, her cheeks tearstained and the pillow damp. Edmund placed a kiss on both his sisters' foreheads, careful not to wake them._

_Stealthily, he walked on to the balcony. A lone figure stood, with hands braced on the banister for support. His brother had not even moved._

_To his alarm, Edmund moved to catch Peter as he collapsed, faint and weary from the exhaustion of worrying and countless sleepless nights. Peter flickered between consciousness and unconsciousness for a moment, then refocused on his brother smiling at him._

_Realizing that his brother was home, the High King quickly pulled his brother into an embrace._

Edmund's thoughts were jerked back to the present when he realized his feet had led him to the chapel's threshold. The familiar, unassuming building had been a favourite retreat for the brothers when they realized that they had found Aslan in England. Edmund entered, his shoes making a slight noise that echoed around the room.

He made his way forward and sat in his family's pew, gazing at the pulpit and the whitewashed cross behind it. Bowing his head, he uttered a prayer that he knew by heart. Whenever any of them had to leave, either for military campaigns or for diplomatic missions, those who remained behind prayed this prayer to the Lion of Judah, as they knew him now.

_May the Lion be with you_

_To His Word, hold forever true_

_Though darkness try to smite you_

_To the Lion, our faith is due._

_May your swords be sharp and your tongue be quick_

_Forever you'll be in Aslan's keep._

_Amen._

Raising his head and leaving his pew with one final glance at the wooden cross, Edmund cannot help but feel that his heart is lighter and he is at peace.

_Aslan, be with him…as you are with us._

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

**A/N: **Whew! This chapter was so hard to write…I hope I did it justice. Please leave a review and tell me how I did!

- Shana -


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Chapter 4! Finally! Just a short note to the historical buffs out there: I will shamelessly butcher history for the sake of literature. (Hey, it's been done! Does the Disney movie Pocahontas ring a bell?)**

**Anyway, my apologies.**

**I do not own.**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_He is wandering alone. He has no companions, of that he is sure, but he faintly remembers familiar voices drowned out by the symphony of gunshots. Those still echo in his ears._

_He can faintly remember the heat of battle, scrambling over rocks and bloodied, grey snow. _

_He is lost. He knows he is in a war, and to be on the opposite side of the field was very dangerous. Still, he is disoriented and dizzy. The sulphuric smell of gunpowder and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth is all he is aware of._

_He is cold, and the winter wind nips mercilessly. His hands and face are chilled to the bone, and his clothes are poor protection against the relentless weather. He is bleeding in several places, and his entire body aches. He is chilled and feverish, close to delirious._

_Still he stumbles on, and becomes aware of a stinging pain in his left leg. He kneels to survey the damage and grunts at the effort. After trying in vain to stop the bleeding, he gives up and just keeps on. _

_The lights of a structure ahead encourage him, and as he gets closer he sees that it is a camp. It is a war, he reminds himself, and there is no way of knowing which side it is. He can see no flag being flown, and even if there was, the winter fog is altogether too thick._

_Still he walks on, for a shelter is better than none. Just as he is about to reach the gate and the outlines of the guards become clearer, he suddenly becomes aware of how weak he is._

_His legs sink deeper into the snow, and every step seems to be another war altogether. His blood stains the white canvas, leaving behind a gruesome footprint._

_And suddenly, he is tired._

_So tired…_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

If the bitter cold wasn't keeping him awake, Private Daniel Wellington would have thought he was dreaming. And having nightmares, at that. A bloodied man trudging slowly towards his gate wasn't exactly a sweet dream, but when he saw the man collapse, he was brought back to reality.

Rousing his fellow guard, Daniel made ready to help the poor fellow in the snow.

His companion, however, was slightly wary. Private George Prescott was older than Daniel, and always remembered to keep his wits about him.

"Steady there, Wellington. We don't know if it's one of ours."

"One of ours or not, are you going to let a bloody man lie there dying in this bitter cold, when you could help him?" Daniel was all ready to bring the stranger into the medical camp, for that was what it was, but he couldn't carry him all by himself.

"I bloody well will if he's one of those Jerrys!" George Prescott had a burning hatred for Germans, and would not hesitate to shoot on sight, bleeding or not.

"You don't _know _that!" cried Daniel, exasperated. "All we know is that he's bleeding and he needs help! We're right outside a medical camp for crying out loud!"

Still George was sceptical. "You go, then. Give a holler if he's one of ours, but don't blame me if he's a Jerry and shoots you on the spot."

Quite fed up and sure that the man in the snow was losing precious time, Daniel Wellington made his way towards the fallen figure.

Immediately recognizing the familiar uniform, he gently rolled the man so that he was lying on his back, and not with his face in the snow. "Oy, George! He's one of the boys!"

George was not long in coming, and before long they had hoisted the stranger up and were bearing him inside.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Calling for replacements at the gate, the two quickly carried the stranger into the medical camp, and set him down on the first empty bunk bed they could find.

Setting him down and covering him with whatever cloths they could find, they were able to look at his face for the first time.

Even covered with cuts and bruises, the two were sure that he was only a teen.

"He's one of the young 'uns," remarked George. "Probably one of those who were at the skirmish not far from here."

"I'm surprised he got this far," said Daniel. "Weather and all."

Seeing the new arrival, a very flustered army doctor made his way over.

"Another one?"

"Well, yes, doc. Found him outside the gates."

"Outside the gates?" The doctor raised an eyebrow. Most patients did not usually come by themselves. They were brought by the truckload.

"Alone?" They nodded.

Queer. But he did not have time to puzzle over that. Immediately checking over his new patient, he noted the high fever and the wounds.

"Well? Out with you! You're not wounded, are you?"

The pair were dumbfounded by the doctor's sudden change in temperament, and meekly shook their heads.

"Out! Out!"

Before they knew what was happening, George and Daniel found themselves being shoved out of the tent and into the freezing cold.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_So cold, so cold._

_Was he ever this cold? He thinks he was…long ago._

_And not here. Not in this place._

_Of course he remembers Cold. He remembers meeting her. Drawing his sword to fight her. Challenging her._

_Cold captured a little boy, he remembers. Black hair, fair skin…_

_Her son? _

_He shakes his head. No, that can't be right._

_Black hair, fair skin…brownish blackish eyes._

_Staring into his soul._

_Strangely, he remembers fur coats and Turkish Delight, and even in his hallucinations, he thinks it very queer._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**A/N: Sorry it's so short. More soon! Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Alrighty, Chapter 5! Now, a lot of you are kind of confused with the story right now…it's understandable. Hope everything will be cleared up soon! Oh, and I didn't get much feedback, but I'm still going to post this.**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The army doctor had never been so puzzled before. For one, this young man had come to the medical camp alone, unaided and bleeding. Two, he would have come from the skirmish near the Brodville River, which was quite a long way off. Taking into account his injuries, this youth should have collapsed some way along the three hour hike, what with the cold and snow.

Shaking his head, Dr. Thomas leaned down to gently examine the young soldier's torso, which was covered in tiny scrapes and bruises. Finished with his examination, the doctor moved to button the military uniform again, when a trinket caught his eye.

It was a wooden pendant. Not very heavy, it was carved into a sort of crest: a pair of scales and a lion. Holding it in his hand and rubbing his finger over it, Dr. Thomas couldn't help but be amazed at the artistry of the carving. When he was a lad, he himself had been obsessed with wood carving, but he had never done anything like this.

Turning over the pendant, an inscription on the smooth side caught his eye. Engraved in the wood was an inscription that made the doctor's eyes misty. After years and years of tending to fallen soldiers, he had witnessed many tearful goodbyes and many last breaths. Looking at the handsome young one that lay on the makeshift medical table, he prayed to God that the youth would live, if only for the sake of the carver of the pendant.

For he himself had said goodbye to a brother, years before, but he was sure his own goodbye had not been as poignant or as eloquent as the pendant he held in his hand, even though some words puzzled him.

_As long as we are apart_

_Aslan, protect the other half of my heart._

_ED._

Ed. Surely this "Ed" must be a close relative, perhaps a brother. Feeling as if he had intruded on some sort of special bond, Dr. Thomas hastily finished his work, buttoning the young man's uniform and tucking the pendant inside. A glint of metal caught his eye, and he gently extricated a dogtag that had become tangled in the youth's hair. Exhaling, he made ready his patient's list. Not many of them came with identification, and this was a rare gift.

Wiping away the grime, he quickly deciphered the name and number of the young man.

_Pevensie, Peter _

_8493760_

Turning it over, he hoped to God there was an address for the ailing boy, some family he could contact. But there was no specific address, only the vague _Finchley, England._

Sighing, he made a mental note to send the name and number of the boy to the War Office near Finchley. Something was better than nothing, anyway.

Two days later, the telegram was sent.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Edmund came home that night pale and shivering. In his mad rush from home, he had forgotten to get his coat and scarf, and so arrived from the chapel that night with blue lips.

Susan and Lucy had wasted no time in getting him warm, and in the middle of Susan's scolding and Lucy's understanding smiles, he confirmed what they had been dreading.

"Oh, where _did _you rush off to all of a sudden, Edmund? We were worried, and after seeing the news in the paper…"

Edmund gently cut off his sister. "It's true. He's missing in action."

Susan immediately stood up and wrung her hands, her worry evident in the lines on her face. "Oh! Oh!" And she was like that for a few minutes, mumbling incoherent words of disbelief and anxiety.

Lucy, however, did not miss the peaceful tone in her brother's voice, devoid of the emotions she could hear clearly from her sister. She sat on the rug beside her where her brother sat on the couch, and leaned on his knees. After Susan had calmed down and had declared that she needed to rest, Lucy turned to face her brother and clasped her hands over her knees, drawing them closer to her.

"You've been to the chapel, haven't you?" Lucy's eyes were wide and calm, brimming with understanding and happiness. Peace, she knew, could only come from the Great Lion Himself, and she, like her brothers, had found Him in England too.

Smiling down at his youngest sister, Edmund replied. "Yes, and I prayed to Him for peace. He'll protect Peter. I know He will."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Two days later, there came another knock at the door. The little family was having breakfast, and at the sharp sound none of them wanted to answer. All dreaded the telegram that might come, saying that Peter's body had been found.

Looking around the table and seeing that none of them wanted to get up, Edmund knew it would be him to answer the door. Mum was looking haggard and older than she was, the evidence of long nights spent in worry. Susan's eyes were red and puffy, the countless tears she had shed finally taking their toll. Even Lucy, with all her optimism and faith, had been looking less and less cheerful as the days went by.

Without a word, Edmund pushed his chair back and answered the door. There stood the secretary from the War Office, Mr. McGeoffrey by name. Needless to say, Edmund was very surprised.

"Good morning, sir," Edmund said.

"Good morning, my dear boy! I'm so glad I've finally found you!" Mr. McGeoffrey was ecstatic, and he crushed Edmund into an embrace.

When he finally let go, Edmund was all the more puzzled. "Me, Sir? Whatever for?"

"Your brother's been found, boy! A telegram came today, he's currently at one of the medical camps."

"Oh…" Edmund was speechless. "Oh Aslan…"

"Edmund?" His mother's voice came from the kitchen, full of anxiety. "Who is it?"

Edmund could hardly keep his voice from breaking, so close was he to crying.

"It's Peter, Mum! They've found him! Oh, thank Aslan, they've found him!"

A shriek came from the kitchen, and soon Mr. McGeoffrey saw two young ladies who immediately rushed to the boy Edmund's side, their mother walking more sedately and slowly behind.

"Oh, do come in, sir! We've only just made a new pot of tea," invited Susan, remembering her manners.

"Why, thank ye, young lady, but I can only stay a while…"

And as Edmund watched, his sisters took command of the refreshments and his mother engaged the secretary in conversation, asking about her son. Closing the door behind their unexpected visitor, Edmund uttered a prayer of thanks to the Great Lion for keeping his brother alive.

Little did he know that the hardest battles were still to come.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**A/N: The plot thickens! Review? **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Alrighty, Chapter 6!**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_He sees him again. He always does. The young, black-haired, pale-skinned boy always visits him in his dreams. Sometimes, he tends his wounds. Other times, the boy strokes his hair and whispers nonsense._

_He's feverish, he knows. He's hallucinating._

_And yet, the young boy seems so painfully familiar. _

_He remembers a massive battle, but not in This Place. _

_No. He remembers it was in the Other Side of the Wardrobe. Narnia, his dreams call it._

_He remembers fighting Cold. She was terrible that day, he remembers._

_Ice. Fire. Blood. Water. Warmth. Golden. _

_He remembers the stiff yet strangely comfortable feel of armor, clinking whenever he'd move. He remembers riding a strange creature, a horse with a horn._

_Then he remembers the bugle call. The majestic battle cry that tore from his mouth, urging everyone around him onward. He remembers the first clash, the screams that came from the front line, the horrifying monsters and creatures whose blood he spilt. For Narnia._

_Then he sees her. The ice in her eyes seems to pierce through his very soul, and he vows to end her, to put an end to the fear in this country. His country._

_He looks around, although he doesn't know exactly what he is looking for._

_Then he sees him again. The boy. Still the same hair and skin, although now he is clothed in armor much like his own. _

_Cold is coming closer now, her wands slicing through air and relentlessly destroying anything in her path. One by one, his army falls in front of her._

_Eyes blazing, he too cuts down any who stand in his way. They are about to meet now, a clash of fire and ice. She is so close._

_Then there he is again! The young boy jumps down and prepares to fight Cold herself._

_That fool!_

_As he watches, the outmatched soldier of Narnia stands in front of Cold. In a split second, the fight is over before it has even begun._

_She has stabbed him with her wand, the silver contrasting cruelly with the warm red that oozes out from the inflicted wound._

_Before he falls to the ground, the young boy seems to glance his way, mouthing something. _

_The dream sharpens, and the unsaid words hit him like a rock. He hears them as clearly as if they had been shouted in his ear._

"_I'm sorry."_

_As he watches him fall, the pain is too great! The anger, driving and fuelling him. The sight of the young boy's body, lying lifeless on the ground._

_No._

_No._

_NO!_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"NOOO!"

He can feel warm hands, trying to pin him down, trying to keep him still.

"He's conscious."

"Dreaming again, probably."

"Shall we give him more of the sleeping pills, sir?"

The doctor shakes his head, reluctant. Nightmares evidently plague this young man, and he is loath to force him into another torturous slumber. Besides, the supply of sleeping pills is slowly being consumed.

"No. Let him up…"

The army nurses, also youths learning the intricacies of army medicine, remove the body restraints and leave, going back to their usual routines. Peter, for his part, opens his eyes – and is nearly blinded by the dim lights.

"Are you alright, son?" the doctor asks kindly, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter sits up painfully and swings his legs over to sit on the side of the bed, facing away from Dr. Thomas.

"I'm fine, sir." Running his hands through his hair and leaning forward while folding his hands on his knees, Peter does not look fine at all. In fact, he looks very lost.

"Peter. Is that your name?" It is standard procedure, to make sure the battlefield experience hasn't addled a soldier's memories and sense of identity.

"I…I think so. My last name…Pevensie."

"Yes, yes." The doctor encourages him, coaxing him out of his state of confusion. Going around to face the youth squarely, he asks more details.

"Where is your home?"

"Fi…Finchley, I think it's called." Peter's voice is hesitant, as if he isn't sure of his answer.

The doctor senses this, and follows up.

"Are you sure?"

At first, Peter looks ready to answer the place of his dreams and nightmares. _Narnia. _He feels and remembers a life there, but for some reason he believes that this doctor will not believe him. Instead, he nods.

The doctor looks relieved. Next, usually family is the topic.

"Do you have any siblings?"

At this, Peter's face lights up. Even his heart feels lighter, as he remembers the love and light of a warm home.

"Yes, two. Two sisters, and the loveliest girls in all of Finchley."

The warmth is evident in Peter's voice, the love for his two queens radiating through. And yet, the doctor is confused.

"Only two? Don't you have a brother?"

The word brings chills up Peter's spine, the dreams and nightmares flashing back.

_Dark hair. Dark eyes. _

_Staring into my soul._

But he quickly brushes it off.

"Yes," he replies with all certainty. "Only two. Two sisters. No brothers."

Finished with his examination, the doctor leaves Peter, puzzled.

_Perhaps this "Ed" might be a cousin? Another close relative?_

Either way, the doctor is a busy man – and does not go back to the conundrum throughout the day.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The doctor is finished with his questioning, administering of medicine, bandaging, recording, and other duties at midnight, and the lights in the tent turn off completely, as even the orderlies and doctors retire to their own tents for some few well-earned hours of sleep before the early morning shift at 4 a.m.

Left alone in the pitch-black of the tent, Peter is limited to brooding and meditating, as he is too scared to fall asleep.

Instead, he turns to his memories, trying to make sure he is who he really is.

_Dark hair. Dark eyes._

It is useless. He keeps remembering that boy, the idiot who foolishly threw himself in front of the White Witch.

_There. _He remembers. The White Witch, she was called.

Left with the lingering features of cold, blazing eyes and the white, elegant yet terrible angular face of Jadis, Peter has no choice but to re-enter slumber once again.

And once again, he dreams.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_He finds himself on a battlefield. Fell creatures surround him left and right, their carcasses littering the whole field. The metallic smell of blood pervades the air, and the smell of death lingers._

_He spots Narnian soldiers, some bleeding and struggling, others supporting their wounded friends and brothers. Still others allow themselves a few tears, kneeling over their fallen comrades. Everyone seems to be making their way towards the banner, the majestic red lion rampant flapping in the wind. It is there that the healers have set up their station, the Dryads and their daughters administering their herbs and bandages._

_Although his army stands victorious, Peter cannot help but feel that this battle won must have come at a horrible price._

_He seems to float closer to the banner, knowing that nobody can see him or sense his presence. Muffled cries echo all around, as wounds are bound and bones set back into place._

_Then, he sees himself. Startled, he looks into the face of the man he once was, tall and proud. This Peter is truly a King. High King. Despite himself, dream-Peter feels again that familiar longing, to be the man, the king he was. Is. Even in his battle-worn state, with grime, dried blood and sweat on his face and body, he carries himself with the air of a warrior and royal, his eyes wise and caring as they look over his army._

_Or what was left of it. As dream-Peter watches, King Peter's face grows worried and anxious, as if he is looking for something he cannot find._

"_Harne," he beckons to a nearby centaur. "My brother?"_

_Nodding to acknowledge his king, the centaur replies, "None have seen him, Sir. The last time I saw King Edmund, he was caught in battle fury, wiping out any who dared stand in his path."_

_/His brother?/ _

_/Did he have a brother?/_

_He watches the scene play out before him, as High King Peter runs to find where his so-called brother has gone. "Ed! Edmund!"_

_/Edmund. So his name is Edmund./_

_No answer. The only sound in the battlefield is a constant clashing, as if a battle still rages. _

_A glimpse of red cloth and silver armor, and the High King knows where his brother is. Some way in the forest on the outskirts of the battlefield, the Just is still caught up in his bloodlust, swinging his sword and hacking at enemies unseen._

"_Ed."_

_His voice is soothing now, like a mother to her baby. _

"_No! No! Get away from him! Peter!" Clearly unseeing, Edmund continues to hack wildly, unearthly cries erupting from his throat, the desperate guttural sound sending chills up dream-Peter's spine. It is him, the dark-haired, fair-skinned boy. Although a man, the resemblance is unmistakeable._

_/So this is Ed. My…brother./ _

_/My brother./_

_High King Peter approaches, ever so slowly. Finally, he is close enough to grasp the flat of his brother's blade. Edmund still struggles. Clawing and punching, the echoing cries of "Peter! Peter!" filling the air._

_With a start, dream-Peter realizes that as even he draws closer, the one he calls brother does not have dark eyes._

_No. In his bloodlust and battle fury, in his mad effort to keep all destroyers and enemies away from his High King, Edmund's eyes are red._

"_Shhh…"Gently, the High King takes away his brother's sword and holds him tightly in his arms. Tighter and tighter he embraces him, until Edmund can struggle no longer._

_Instead, he gives up, and slumps against his brother's form in total surrender. Kneeling on the ground and arranging Edmund on his lap, the High King Peter allows a few tears to fall down his cheeks._

"_Edmund…oh, Edmund…why must you do this? Why must you drive yourself to the point of fury and exhaustion?"_

_For indeed, in all his effort, the Just King has fallen unconscious, the energy all gone from the battle hard-fought and won._

_But even unconscious, the younger king smiles, and whispers a reply to his brother's broken plea._

"_You would do the same for me."_

_Left with this vision of brothers, Peter wakes up._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**UHM. Review?**


End file.
